


Blood Shed by My Hand

by usa123



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dealing With Loss, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Minor non-graphic character death, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usa123/pseuds/usa123
Summary: Steve takes his first life during the War.  The rest of the Commandos are there to comfort him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little nervous about posting this fic because I'm concerned people will read more into it than I intended. I just want to state upfront that this is not a statement piece of any kind: it is just a story about dealing with both war and loss. That's it. No hidden meanings.
> 
> Two more quick things before we begin: First, showing emotion is **not** a sign of weakness.  In the second part, Steve is just showing he still has a heart, that he is still the little guy from Brooklyn who never wanted to kill anyone. Second, Bucky drops one f-bomb in the latter part of this fic. I want to warn you all ahead of time because I don't usually include that kind of language in my stories but, in this instance, it was hard to get away from.
> 
> I hope I haven't deterred anyone but I wanted to get those things out of the way now. Hope you enjoy!

It all happened so fast.

One minute Dum-Dum was kneeling, his rifle trained on the entrance to a known Hydra base; the next he was flat on the ground, his upper back aching, gasping for breath.

Barely conscious, he looked over to find a large brown blob on the ground next to him.  Then he’d heard the sound of a gun being cocked and lifted his gaze a little higher to see a blurry metal...rifle barrel less than a foot from his nose.  

He wouldn’t have had time to make a move even if his brain was functioning at full capacity.

Fortunately, someone else did.

There was a noise unlike anything Dum-Dum had ever heard before, then the barrel fell out of his field of vision.  He squinted and saw a blur of red, white and blue in the distance before he was roughly jostled to his feet.

“Cap,” Dum-Dum gasped out.  His vision cleared slightly when he was upright and he was now able to see the Hydra agent lying prone, his head almost completely severed from his body, thanks to a large gouge in his neck.  Dum-Dum knew without a doubt that the wound had been inflicted by Steve’s shield.

“Thanks man,” the mustachioed man gasped as he struggled to regain his breath.

Steve didn’t respond, his mouth pursed in a thin line, as he just stared at the man on the ground in front of him. Then, without warning, he spun into motion, tossing Dum-Dum's arm over his shoulder and hobbling away from the scene, only pausing briefly to retrieve Dugan's abandoned rifle and slinging it over the sergeant's neck.  Dum-Dum, who was still trying to regain conscious control over his body, didn’t have the energy to do anything but try to carry some of his weight.

After about half a mile, Dugan had recovered enough to walk on his own.  “I got it from here,” he informed Steve as he dug in his heels and slipped out of the captain's grip, ignoring the twinge in his upper back as he did so.

“We’d better radio in,” Steve replied in a strained and mechanical tone.  

It was so unlike the way he usually spoke that Dum-Dum looked over in concern, quickly noticing just how pale Steve's face was.  “You hurt, Cap?” he asked, scanning his friend for any obvious signs of injury.

Steve just shook his head silently though his Adam’s apple was bobbing with fervor.  Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he lurched off the path, spraying the roadside with the remains of his dinner.

“Shit,” Dum-Dum cursed as he hurried over to Steve and began patting down the captain's torso looking for broken bones or other wounds.  “What’s wrong, Cap?”

But Steve didn’t answer, his lips pursed, both tucked slightly in, his teeth biting down on them in a desperate attempt to keep back whatever was trying to get out.  His face was scrunched up tight, looking like he was in immense pain.

Dum-Dum finished his examination and cursed, having not found any blood.  “Steve, I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” he demanded as Rogers heaved again, bringing up nothing.  “Were you poisoned?”

“No,” Steve finally said, his voice low, emotionless, barely audible.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I…” he took a deep breath.  “I killed him.”

Dum-Dum didn’t quite understand.  He’d seen Steve go into battle against much greater odds and do much more damage against many more people.  It didn’t track with what he was seeing now before him.

Maybe it was for religious reasons and Cap always acted like this after a mission, he thought.  He'd only been a Commando for a few weeks though so he didn't know for certain.

“It’s always tough to take a life,” Dugan said as he rubbed his hand up and down Steve’s back.  The gesture was meant to be consoling but it was also a bit hurried.  This was one of the few roads to the Hydra base so he had no doubt other agents would be travelling it soon.  He and Rogers needed to get out of there before the rest of the Hydra flank returned from their recon and found their friend's body.

But he’d never seen Steve act like this, so he was also more than a little concerned.  Perhaps the captain had been hit with a dart or been drugged and hadn’t even realized it.

“But if it was him or me, I’m damn glad you chose me,” Dum-Dum continued, now feeling for a puncture wound in Steve’s neck, where unprotected skin resided in the gap between uniform and helmet.

His hand stopped moving as a thought struck and his stomach sank into his knees.  “Steve,” he asked as gently as possible.  “Was that your first kill?”

Steve nodded, his eyes watery, then retched again.

Shit.

Dugan had been a soldier for so long he’d almost gotten used to the killing, as horrible as that sounded.  It was different over there, on the front, not at all like at home.  He’d had to learn very quickly into his first tour that it was kill or be killed.  No remorse, no mercy could be allowed if he wanted to make it home. He’d hardened himself to it, _accepted_ it almost, until this situation, where he realized just how far removed he was from the man he’d used to be: the man who used to care about others, about strangers, about making the world a better place.

Steve was still like that, which Dugan supposed is why he cottoned so quickly to the new team leader, even though he was less experienced in the field than even the greenest man in his first unit.  Steve still thought there was good in the world, that some people could be saved, that not everyone was bad, and Dugan was determined to keep that light shining for as long as possible.  He didn’t want Steve to become as bitter and jaded as the rest of them and had been truly hoping that day would never come.

As he knelt there though, rubbing Steve’s back, he knew there would be some big changes ahead, despite everything the team had done to prevent them.

“I’m sorry man," he said, knowing the words were woefully inadequate.  Yet, he wished someone had said them once to him before sending him off to gather dog tags of their dead.

Steve was still hunched forward, face tilted toward the ground, but Dugan was able to see the few scant tears flowing down his cheeks.  Less than a second later, Steve shot upright, sending Dum-Dum falling backwards into the dirt.   “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Rogers said dully as he swiped a hand under his eyes.

“It’s okay Steve,” Dugar replied, hauling himself to his knees.  “We all went through it.”  He reached out and clamped a hand on Steve’s shoulder reassuringly, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

Steve nodded, still not looking entirely convinced. Then he shrugged out of Dugan’s grip and hauled himself to his feet, only teetering slightly.  “We have to get out of here,” he stated emotionlessly, as if he knew this was expected of him, regardless of how he actually felt.

As much as Dugan wanted to protest, to allow Steve his moment, he just nodded, stood himself, and followed Steve back toward base camp.

* * *

“Where the hell have you been?” Bucky demanded as soon as they were in range of a small clearing hidden behind a thick clump of trees.

Steve opened his mouth, took a deep breath, then shook his head and walked right past his furious friend.  Dugan had heard how close the two of them were and the fact Steve bypassed Bucky surprised him…and Barnes, he realized as the latter spun around, his eyes flashing.

“What the hell, Dugan?”

“He took his first life,” Dum-Dum explained quietly.

“Shit.  I gotta go,” Barnes said, spinning around and taking off after Steve.  He followed his friend's trail away from camp and to a small river, where Steve was sitting on the bank, legs folded to his chest, forearms resting on knees, head buried within his arms.

He didn’t even look up as Bucky sat beside him though, at this distance, Bucky was now able to hear the sniffles emanating from the other side of the metaphorical wall Steve had constructed for himself.

“Dugan told me,” Bucky said without preamble, wrapping his left arm around Steve’s shoulders and his right around the bent knees and forearms and pulling his newly large friend into the best hug he could.

It took less than a second for Steve to shift fully into the hug, his head buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck.  Barnes could feel the tremors running up and down his friend’s back.  “It’s okay Steve,” he said, his own voice thick.  “Just let it out.”

The allowance was all it took for Steve’s dam to break.  He completely broke down, sobbing into Bucky’s shoulder, pushing his mouth hard against Bucky’s jacket so as to keep his breakdown quiet and not alert anyone else.  

To this day, Bucky still can’t remember what he said but an endless stream of words flew from his mouth as he attempted to comfort his friend.  

After a long while, Steve’s sobs began to lessen, the amount of water from his eyes diminishing.  Sometime after that, he sat back on his own accord and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his uniform.  He looked so sad and lost that Bucky shifted so they were sitting side-by-side and wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Steve finally said after another long silence.

Bucky just hummed under his breath and began rubbing Steve’s shoulder, knowing the words weren’t directed at him.

“I didn’t even hesitate, Buck,” his friend continued, looking pointedly at the river.  “Not for a second.  Dum-Dum was down and I just…reacted.”

“Steve.”

“No Buck!” Steve shoved his friend away.  “I don’t deserve this.  Don’t deserve any of it.  A good man would have thought of a third option, a way that didn’t end in someone’s death.”

“ _A good man_?” Bucky repeated, feeling anger rising within him.  “Steve, you mean to tell me, you’ve been playing it safe all this time?”

Steve looked over in surprise.  “No.”

Bucky’s anger died down…slightly.

“It’s just…I mean, I’ve probably..." He swallowed hard, whispered, "... _killed..._ ", then hurried to finish the rest of his thought at a more audible volume, "...before, breaking into Azzano, our other three missions, but we were always long gone, never stayed in one place long enough to…” he paused, his nose wrinkling.  “They were never right…” Steve motioned with his hand to the space in front of him.  “I saw him take his last breath, saw the light go out of his eyes.”

Then he snorted derisively.  “I’m sure this sounds stupid to you and Dugan, like I’m losing my damn mind, crying over killing a Hydra agent.”

Bucky shook his head, his own lips pursed as he fought back his own feelings.  “It isn’t stupid Steve.  Valuing human life is a wonderful quality—I wish we had the luxury of doing it out here.  But we don’t.”  He swallowed hard.  “It’s not like the bedtime stories from when we were kids: there isn’t always a third option, not everyone gets to go home, and sometimes your cards just really fucking suck.  But you have to make a choice.  And that sucks even more.”

He waited for Steve to reply but his friend just sniffled loudly and kept staring at the ground in front of him.

“No matter what you do, the _what if’s,_ the other option, will always weigh on you,” Bucky continued more softly.  “And it should: it should never be easy to take someone’s life, no matter whose side they’re on.  But you can’t let that stop you from doing what you’re doing.  If you start second-guessing yourself, you’re going to make an already bad situation worse.  Your choice saved Dum-Dum’s life today.  You can’t lose sight of that.”

It look a long moment but Steve finally nodded, despite his chin still wavering ever-so-slightly.  Bucky responded by pulling his friend into another long hug, wishing more than anything he’d been there to take the shot, to kill that agent, so Steve wouldn’t have had to.  He knew it would only have put off the inevitable but any delay of this breakdown would have been preferable.

“Wonder what my ma would think of me now,” Steve muttered into Bucky’s shoulder, so quietly Barnes wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it.

“She’d be happy you’re so big and strong,” he responded anyway as he rubbed Steve’s back.  “And that, even over here is all this awfulness, her kid still gives a damn.”

The corners of Steve's mouth lifted slightly, for a brief second, before he bit down hard on his bottom lip as if to keep back a second wave of tears.

“Let’s go back,” Bucky suggested.  “It helps to be distracted, to get out of your head for a while.”

Steve nodded again before rising to his feet almost mechanically.  Once upright, he took a deep breath, straightened out his back, and let it out slowly.  He waited until Bucky had risen as well before walking back toward camp, his head held high as if desperate to prove nothing was wrong.

But from the moment they walked past the tents and saw the Commandos standing awkwardly by where Steve and Bucky had left, instead of sitting around the fire as they usually did, Bucky knew that wasn’t going to be the case.

“What’s going on?” Steve tried to ask, still desperate to sell the charade.

Morita just took a step closer, reached out and rested his hand on Steve’s forearm.  “We know, Cap...and we’re sorry.”

Steve swallowed hard then nodded, his lips tightly drawn again. “We have everyone back, safe, healthy and alive,” he said after a brief pause.  “Let’s focus on that instead.”  He then walked over to the large log beside the small fire and sat down, chin resting in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, eyes staring unblinkingly at the dancing flames.  

After a beat, the rest of the Commandos followed him and took their respective places, immediately trying to go on with their evening like nothing had happened, knowing this was what Steve wanted, despite the fact Steve was quiet, disengaged, and passed on the flask without taking a drink when it was handed to him.  But the Commandos’ attempt to pull him out of his headspace didn’t go unheeded and eventually Steve began conversing with the rest of them, although at a much lower energy level than usual.

An hour later, Falsworth yawned so loudly his jaw cracked, which was when they put the liquor down and decided on watches.  Steve immediately volunteered to take the first shift and, as much as they wanted to deny him, the rest of the Commandos knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep anyway.

As they drifted off to sleep, they heard Steve muttering under his breath by the dying fire, what sounded like prayers for the man’s soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Happier fics to come, I promise! I'm shooting for having the Bucky!cap one-shot finished by the middle of October. Sorry for the delay.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
